


The Voice Speaks

by LostNTheShadows



Category: Lost Boys (1987), Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Santa Carla, Vampires, introduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostNTheShadows/pseuds/LostNTheShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From my short foray into RPG, this was the introduction I wrote to the game I played.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Voice Speaks

Welcome to the little coastal town of Santa Carla, California, known amongst the locals as ‘Murder Capital of the World.’ Now, I don’t know how accurate of a title that really is. I’m sure there are other places on this earth whose death toll ranks heads and tails over this seaside town but I guess that remains to be seen. Regardless, what you see before you is what you get – runaways, houses out on the hills, on the cliffs, the boardwalk and the pier. I must say it’s rather apt that you arrived at our sanctuary at sunset. There are those around that would bid you warning to stay in and protect your neck. Silly folk they are.

Now back to the sights. If you venture further into town, you won’t find much except some residences, one in particular that sits atop a hill overlooking the ocean. A suspicious old man lives up there, but that’s not where we want to begin. No.

The boardwalk. Now that’s where the hub of the town centers. I guess you could add the pier into the mix too but we’ll get back there in a minute. This boardwalk, filled with games, rides, shops, food, piercers, this is where all the children of the night come to play. Don’t jump ahead of me! This town doesn’t like to wake up until three in the afternoon so by the time the sun sets, the party is in full swing, lasting well into the night, feeding the vicious cycle. The youth of Santa Carla occupy the beach during the day, soaking up the sun and riding the waves and at night they wreak havoc on the boardwalk. At night the beach is littered with bonfires and open-air concerts and the wooden planks above them support the throngs of rowdy crowds well into the night.

Big Al, the boardwalk security guard, is less than thrilled with his job. Two groups in particular give him extra trouble: the Surf Nazis and the Lost Boys. The former is a group of surfing goons loaded with mohawks and tanned skin. They think they own the boardwalk and Big Al has had to quell their hijinks on more than one occasion. The latter is a group of motorcycle punks keen to dominate the boardwalk. They don’t cause as much trouble on their own but they have been known to clash with the Surf Nazis and many a tourist has filed a complaint about their motorcycle-riding. Big Al has banned them both from the boardwalk on numerous occasions for their troubles. They might abide for a day or two but the trouble always starts up again and, of course, Big Al is always the one to stop it.

Over on the pier is the quieter section of the boardwalk. Here lies the nicer, fancier restaurants, more upscale shops and less noise than the ride-ridden boardwalk across the bay. This bulletin board right here – look at it. Littered with fliers for pieces of nothing for sale, concerts long past, and look at this. A posting for a seminar on the existence of UFOs at some hall downtown. Looks like we’re two years too late since it’s July 1987, not July 1985. Needless to say, this board doesn’t get cleaned regularly. More often than not, if someone needs to post something, they just tack it on top of what’s already there. In fact, I’m convinced that if you were to stick a tack in, it wouldn’t even hit the corkboard, the layers of paper are so thick.

But that’s not why I brought you over here. That, the video store, is what I want you to see. This video store, having the best selection in Santa Carla, is owned by a man named Max: a tall, rather lanky fellow, goofy in a trying-to-be-hip sort of way. And that’s Maria behind the counter. She looked like she was dragged from a truck when she first came here but Max took her under his wing. He’s a kind man like that, very much a father figure.

Max has been in Santa Carla for quite some time now. No one really knows for sure how long and Max certainly won’t tell you. No one’s really paid him much mind. He’s rather quiet, has a tendency to keep to himself but people know his name. Grandpa Emerson, the man that occupies the house up on the hill overlooking the ocean, he’s seen Max around for quite sometime now and Grandpa is rather suspicious of Max. You see, ever since Max came to Santa Carla, people started disappearing. Most people didn’t notice, especially in a town populated with transients, but Grandpa did. Every once in a while the paper would do a report of some runaway being found on the beach or tossed under the boardwalk, drained of blood. These deaths were usually just passed off as accidental, the kid hurt himself and bled to death. Funnily enough, though, there was never a drop of blood to be found. Again, all of that was passed off with excuses like the ocean must have washed it away. None of these murders get investigated because, let’s face it, no one really cares about runaways.

But Grandpa, Grandpa’s smart. He’s taken notice and connected all of the dots and has come to just one conclusion: vampires and it’s Max’s doing. The death toll has been rising over the past six months or so. Grandpa’s worried that Max has turned more people. This is why Grandpa doesn’t like going into town. He much prefers the company of his stuffed animals or the widow Johnson.

Grandpa has allies, though, in a couple of young kids about his younger grandson’s age, named Edgar and Alan Frog. They run the comic book shop on the boardwalk and, like Grandpa, have been noticing strange things happening, people disappearing, people dying, no blood to be found. The only logical explanation is vampires and since that is, they have armed themselves (kept in storage in the back room) with a plethora of wooden stakes and informative reading material in the form of comic books aptly named Vampires Everywhere! and the like. They’re not stupid. They’re going to be prepared for whatever may come but they, unlike Grandpa, haven’t a clue as to who the vampires could actually be.

Max, our dear vampiric Max, knows about everyone. Just like Grandpa has seen him, he’s seen Grandpa and is rather thankful that the old man stays away. He could ruin his plans. He scoffs at the Frog brothers, knowing they’re nowhere close to his scent.

Since Max . . . adopted the Lost Boys about six months prior, he’s been anxious to share this parental burden with someone else. Four night-stalking boys in their late teens can be a handful. And boys need a mother. Max has often brought his boys, David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko, to his house, situated on a bluff, to discuss these plans but thus far nothing much has amounted. His adoption of the girl called Star didn’t go as planned but she was in too deep. He gave her Laddie Thompson, a runaway child of about ten, to keep her quiet and so far it’s worked. But they all need a mother and he a wife. He desperately wants a family.

On another bluff, a bit further away, sitting on the edge of the world and down a rickety set of stairs, is a cave that no one dares venture into. Stories have been told that those who enter never come out and those lucky enough to get close hear laughter, crazy laughter, and the sound of bats, much larger than any bat should be. But if one were able to get inside and come out alive to describe it, one would see it’s the remains of a sunken hotel, dressed to suit its occupants, and it looks rather lived in. This is the home of the Lost Boys and on this night, where our story begins, they have taken off from their home to meet Max at his. The plans always need to be discussed and tweaked as needed. They’ve changed so many times already the boys, more often than not, just nod and go along for the ride.

But now something is different, something is changing. There’s new blood on the wind, only a week away. Someone’s expecting family, someone’s expecting a comrade, someone’s expecting love, but none of them expected trouble.


End file.
